Dear Fanny, I mean, now I'm laid on the shelf, To give you a sketch — ay, a sketch of myself. ‘ Tis a pitiful subject, I frankly confess, And one it would puzzle a painter to dress;
But, however, here goes, and as sure as a gun, I'll tell all my faults like a penitent nun; For I know, for my Fanny, before I address her, She wont be a cynical father confessor.
Come, come,‘ twill not do! put that curling brow down; You can n't, for the soul of you, learn how to frown. Well, first I premise, it's my honest conviction, That my breast is a chaos of all contradiction;
Religious — deistic — now loyal and warm; Then a dagger-drawn democrat hot for reform: This moment a fop, that, sententious as Titus; Democritus now, and anon Heraclitus;
Now laughing and pleased, like a child with a rattle; Then vex'd to the soul with impertinent tattle; Now moody and sad, now unthinking and gay, To all points of the compass I veer in a day.
I'm proud and disdainful to Fortune's gay child, But to Poverty's offspring submissive and mild; As rude as a boor, and as rough in dispute; Then as for politeness — oh! dear — I'm a brute!
I show no respect where I never can feel it; And as for contempt, take no pains to conceal it. And so in the suite, by these laudable ends, I've a great many foes, and a very few friends.
And yet, my dear Fanny, there are who can feel That this proud heart of mine is not fashion'd of steel. It can love ( can it not? ) — it can hate, I am sure; And it's friendly enough, though in friends it be poor.
For itself though it bleed not, for others it bleeds; If it have not ripe virtues, I'm sure it's the seeds; And though far from faultless, or even so-so, I think it may pass as our worldly things go.
Well, I've told you my frailties without any gloss; Then as to my virtues, I'm quite at a loss! I think I'm devout, and yet I can n't say, But in process of time I may get the wrong way.
I'm a general lover, if that's commendation, And yet can n't withstand you know whose fascination. But I find that amidst all my tricks and devices, In fishing for virtues, I'm pulling up vices;
So as for the good, why, if I possess it, I am not yet learned enough to express it. You yourself must examine the lovelier side, And after your every art you have tried,
Whatever my faults, I may venture to say, Hypocrisy never will come in your way. I am upright, I hope; I'm downright, I'm clear! And I think my worst foe must allow I'm sincere;
And if ever sincerity glow'd in my breast, ‘ Tis now when I swear ——.
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